


You Can Go South In My Downs

by MostWeakHamlets



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hickies, M/M, Rated M Just To Be Safe, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), frottage in the cottage, there's some tender moments, they're retired and will enjoy their date nights goddammit, they're still soft in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostWeakHamlets/pseuds/MostWeakHamlets
Summary: Date night is every Saturday for the odd, retired couple that lives in that secluded cottage in West Sussex. Crowley needs a pep talk.--It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Crowley to work up the nerve to even hold Aziraphale’s hand. Even then, he hadn’t initiated it. Aziraphale always initiated things. But tonight, Crowley was going to turn the tables.“You look sexy, and you’re going to woo him tonight. You’re a demon. You’re a master of seduction.”Crowley had never actually successfully “seduced” anyone in his existence. Whether or not he had done so to Aziraphale was still up for debate.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 160





	You Can Go South In My Downs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CompassRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompassRose/gifts).



> Written for CompassRose! They asked for "frottage in the cottage" with an established relationship that is "nonetheless still occasionally awkward.”

“You can do this, Anthony J. Crowley. You’ve been living with him for a year now. He loves you. He loves everything, but he loves you more than most things. Probably. Maybe not his best books.”

Crowley finished putting his hair in an updo and continued scrutinizing himself in the mirror. His black jumper had a wide neck and exposed his collarbones while clinging tight to his arms and torso. He looked fine in that area, but he fussed over his makeup. The foundation he dabbed on was the right shade, and the blush was flattering. But he didn’t like the way his mascara clumped, and he wished that his lips were just a bit plumper so that his lipstick didn’t draw attention to how thin they were. 

He wished he could change his corporation slightly, but Aziraphale would notice and would scold him to change back “the way that I like you.” Aziraphale had every detail of Crowley’s corporation memorized--which was usually flattering but occasionally became annoying when Crowley wanted to change. Aziraphale would ask if he was changing himself for his own comfort at the moment (wider hips or a softer jaw) or if he was trying to impress the angel (a flatter stomach when relationship weight affected his corporation or a more toned chest). One would earn him endless compliments about how beautiful/handsome he looked. The other would earn him a hard look and a lecture on how Aziraphale loved him however he naturally was and “Really, my dear! If you don’t expect me to look a certain way, then there’s no reason to assume I don’t love you as you come.”

“The angel loves you,” Crowley said, flattening a few flyaways. “He’ll love you like this, and you can touch his butt before dinner. You’re allowed to touch his butt. You  _ can  _ touch his butt.”

It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Crowley to work up the nerve to even hold Aziraphale’s hand. Even then, he hadn’t initiated it. Aziraphale always initiated things. But tonight, Crowley was going to turn the tables. 

“You look sexy, and you’re going to woo him tonight. You’re a demon. You’re a master of seduction.”

Crowley had never actually successfully “seduced” anyone in his existence. Whether or not he had done so to Aziraphale was still up for debate. 

He looked over his outfit one more time, pleased with it, before leaving the bedroom. 

Aziraphale was pulling a dish out of the oven when Crowley came up behind him, sliding his hand on the angel’s waist. Crowley could see Aziraphale smile as he set the cannelloni on the countertop. 

“Be careful, my dear. It’s very hot.” 

Neither of them could actually be burned by something as simple as an oven or a hot plate, but it was fun to play along. There were always little moments where they would pretend to be susceptible to human things. If Crowley was a little groggy, Aziraphale would kiss his forehead to check for a fever he couldn’t get. If Aziraphale had been out all day, taking walks through the town and speaking to neighbors, Crowley would suggest he rest for the evening while he made dinner and brought him a cup of tea. They were little things that they did to show that they cared for the other. A voice of concern here or a warning comment there filled the cottage with love. 

When he pulled off his oven mitts and made sure the ceramic dish was far from the edge of the counter, Aziraphale turned around to hold Crowley at arm’s length. He sighed with a sappy look in his eyes. Crowley shifted his weight from foot to foot, reminding himself to not cross his arms over his torso or to duck his head down. 

“You look  _ beautiful, _ my love.”

Crowley’s face burned. He should have been used to compliments by now, but whenever Aziraphale looked at him with absolute, uncensored adoration, he was at a loss of what to do for a minute. It overwhelmed him. He was unused to being the focus of such pure, focused love. There were no distractions anymore to keep Aziraphale from pouring out all his adoration onto Crowley. 

Once he collected himself, Crowley cockily popped his hip out and smirked. “You don’t look too bad yourself, angel.”

Peaking out from Aziraphale’s apron was a new jumper. It wasn’t often that he strayed from his usual waistcoat and bowtie (and he was wearing the beloved bowtie still), but he would do so for special evenings. If Crowley put in a different effort for date nights, he could do the same. So, he wore the powder blue jumper Crowley had gifted him a year ago. Crowley saw it one day when he was finding trouble to cause in a shopping centre, and it was nearly exactly the same shade as Aziraphale’s eyes. He had casually handed it to his angel, and Aziraphale lit up and radiated an obnoxiously sweet energy even Crowley could pick up on. 

“What did you make?” Crowley asked, looking around Aziraphale at the pasta. 

“Spinach ricotta cannelloni. I hope you like it.” 

“I’ll love it.” Crowley pressed his hands to Aziraphale’s chest, splaying his fingers out across the beige apron. “But I think I’d like to skip to dessert.”

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale, pressing against him and dragging his hands up. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck as Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s waist. There were little hums as Crowley kissed along Aziraphale’s jaw and occasionally nibbled as he made his way up to his ear. 

“That’s completely blasphemous,” Aziraphale said, fingers digging into Crowley’s side. 

Crowley pulled at Aziraphale’s earlobe with his teeth. He trailed his hands down Aziraphale’s body to his butt. Aziraphale jumped a little when Crowley pinched. 

“What? This? A little frottage in the cottage?”

“Dessert before dinner, dear.”

Crowley slumped. He pulled away and looked at Aziraphale. Lipstick stains lined his jaw and smeared at his ear. Neither of them moved to wipe it away. 

“Really?”

“I worked hard on this!” Aziraphale said, removing his hands from Crowley’s hips and untying his apron. “I don’t want you spoiling your appetite because you ate dessert.”

“I didn’t mean  _ actual  _ dessert, angel!”

“What did you mean then?”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to say it out loud. He didn’t want to admit to his fantasy of heavy petting in the kitchen or his intentions of palming Aziraphale a few moments ago. It would have been much more convenient if Aziraphale just understood his innuendo. 

“It’s not important.”

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face. “I’m sure it is. Talk to me.”

Crowley made a sound, deep in the back of his throat. It could have been a growl but really sounded like a whine when coupled with the pout he wore. 

“I just wanted to get a little handsy before dinner,” he mumbled. 

“Oh!”

“But it’s fine. If you don’t want to.”

Aziraphale looked back at his dish and then to the table. A tablecloth was laid out with the plates and bowls and silverware. Everything looked so nice, and Crowley knew that Aziraphale must have spent a long time making sure that the napkins were folded right and that the wine glasses were spotless. 

“I  _ would  _ like dinner first, my dear,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley nodded. Of course. He should have known better, he thought with a smirk. If Aziraphale had to choose between a hot, well-prepared meal and a little play, he would choose the meal. Everyone has their preferences and priorities, and Aziraphale’s always laid in dinner--especially when he could share it with Crowley. 

“Besides,” Aziraphale said, “you worked so hard on your clothes and makeup tonight. I’d love to look at you for a bit longer before we ruin them.”

Crowley’s entire body ceased to function. He took a deep breath to steady himself. His angel somehow had the ability to say the most panty-wetting sentences in the most simple way. Implying that Crowley’s outfit would be ruined by the end of the night? It filled Crowley’s head with a multitude of possibilities. Was Aziraphale all talk? Was it actually going to get rough? Would it just be long?

Aziraphale grabbed a spatula and the cannelloni. “Would you mind finding a nice wine for us, dear?”

Crowley walked to the wine rack that hung under the cabinets. There was an equal balance of vintage Aziraphale had collected and cheap wines that had been gifted by neighbors when they first moved in. Crowley considered grabbing a cheap red, but he knew Aziraphale would tut. Cheap wine wouldn’t do for a date night. It was appropriate for the end of long days when they watched bad movies and fell asleep on the sofa together. 

“Let that one breathe,” Aziraphale said when he saw the bottle Crowley picked. 

Crowley set the stained cork and corkscrew in the sink. The bottle went on the table. 

“And I suppose we should let everything cool for a moment as well before we start eating.” Aziraphale placed a bowl of salad next to the pasta. 

Crowley took a seat with Aziraphale, adjusting his top and smoothing the wrinkles.

“Let’s talk for a moment.” 

Crowley laughed when he looked up to Aziraphale to see the red marks still on his face. He grabbed a napkin a began wiping the lipstick on his jaw and ear. Aziraphale leaned forward with a precious smile. 

“Talk about what?” Crowley asked. 

“Anything,” Aziraphale replied. “How was your day?”

“Fine, angel. You should know, I spent it with you.” 

Aziraphale hummed. Crowley pulled his napkin away and stroked Aziraphale’s soft jaw with his thumb. He always had a closer shave than any human could ever get, and his aftershave and moisturizers worked much better than they ever would on a human. As long as Aziraphale believed that he was going to have smooth, clear skin then he would. And Crowley could run his fingers over his round cheeks and chin without a single scratch from stubble. 

“But what about when we weren’t together? How’s your garden?”

Aziraphale  _ had  _ been with Crowley in the garden. He sat in the shade with a book and a cup of coffee, looking up occasionally when Crowley hissed at a few non-corporative begonias. 

“It’s okay,” Crowley said. “The tomatoes aren’t doing as well as they should be. I think they sense your love and support.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hand away from his jaw and laced their fingers together. “A little positive reinforcement never hurt anyone.”

“It’s hurting my plants.”

“Alright, I’ll start keeping my distance from your little torture beds.” 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hand, his lips lingering on the grooves of Crowley’s knuckles. They sat close to each other, their legs bumping under the table and their ankles touching. 

“You’re a bad influence,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand in both hands now. He began stroking Crowley’s arm with one, moving over his thin wrist to his elbow. Crowley inched further in his seat and pressed his knee between Aziraphale’s. 

“I can’t help it.” Aziraphale shrugged. 

He kissed the inside of Crowley’s wrist. Crowley was embarrassed by the hum that came from him from such a simple act. 

He had had enough. 

He stood up. Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and watched Crowley take the two short steps to him. Once Crowley was settled in his lap, he wrapped his arms around his torso. 

Gently, Crowley buried his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair and kissed him. Aziraphale’s hands wandered. They moved from Crowley’s waist, up his stomach, to his chest, and up the back of his shirt. Crowley took a deep breath and arched his back at the feeling of Aziraphale’s nails lightly scratching over his spine. 

Aziraphale pulled his face away from Crowley’s and dipped down to his neck. Crowley whined when Aziraphale bit down. There would be a bruise there in a few hours. Again, an embarrassing sound came out, but Crowley couldn’t care. He grabbed the collar of Aziraphale’s sweater and pulled. Aziraphale would fuss later about the stretched fabric, and Crowley would pluck at it to make it go back to its initial shape. 

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s hips and looked up at him. Crowley smiled down at him. 

“I probably need to refresh my lipstick.” 

Aziraphale wiped away the smeared makeup above his lip with his thumb. He had lipstick on his own face again, spread around his mouth. Crowley debated leaving it there as a reminder. 

“It’ll just wear off during dinner.”

Crowley reached back to grab his napkin again, dipping it in his water glass. He dabbed at the lipstick on Aziraphale’s lips and fixed his hair. Aziraphale smiled, then looked past him to the cannelloni and the wine.

“I suppose the food might ready to eat now. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”


End file.
